Dudley's Daughter
by theinkwell33
Summary: Dudley Dursley's daughter, Amelia, is a witch. When she turns eleven, Harry Potter must introduce his cousin to the world of witchcraft and wizardry, and Amelia must prepare to start school at Hogwarts alongside James Sirius Potter and Scorpius Malfoy.
1. Chapter 1: The Letter

Harry Potter knew something important had happened as soon as there was a knock on the door. It was half-past nine; too late for anyone to be calling on a house this far out in the country without sincere purpose. As he tentatively performed an identification charm with his ear pressed against the cherry wood door, Harry breathed quietly and thought of his scar. Though his scar had not bothered him since the defeat of Voldemort, sometimes he still had to suppress the anxiety and anticipation of pain that welled up inside him out of habit. As he observed the result of the charm he had cast, he frowned in bewilderment.

Harry turned from his position at the door to glance at Ginny, who was holding her wand in alert tension and pointing up at the bedrooms where their three children were lying asleep. She tilted her head inquiringly, and Harry made a gesture telling her it was all fine, there was no need to set protective enchantments.

Harry threw open the door with his wand still in his hand, and the warm summer air rushed in. Dudley Dursley was standing on the doorstep, clutching a wrinkled parchment envelope with emerald green ink scrawled across it. His cousin was still quite heavyset, but he had lost some weight since their last encounter at Aunt Marge's funeral four years previously. His blond mop of hair was pressed against his pink forehead with sweat and he was quaking violently. Harry had not seen Dudley this shaken up since his nasty encounter with the dementors, but was not inclined to tell him so.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked incredulously, but Dudley did not answer. He was staring at Harry's wand with an expression somewhere between fear and the desire to vomit. Wordlessly, Dudley handed Harry the envelope, which was damp from his sweaty fingertips. As Harry glanced at the handwriting and at the familiar crest stamped to the back of the envelope, he understood. "I think you'd better come in," he said, ushering his cousin through the door.

Ginny muttered "_Muffliato_," and pointed her wand at the ceiling to prevent their children from overhearing. Dudley blinked in surprise as he observed this, but still seemed unable to speak. Harry stowed his wand in his pocket and led his cousin into the kitchen. Harry set a kettle to boil and lit the burner by hand; he had a feeling using magic would upset Dudley too much. He set the letter on the wooden table, and Dudley sat down heavily in one of the chairs. It groaned slightly as he did so.

The Potter kitchen was spotless except for two glasses of mead that he and Ginny had been enjoying until Dudley had arrived. It was painted a merry sunlit yellow color, and Ginny had framed moving photographs of their friends and children along the walls. A book entitled "Slow Cooking in High-Pressure Cauldrons: A Beginner's Guide" lay on the counter with a bookmark sticking out of it, and a few pungent gurdyroots sat in a brown bowl in the corner with a note propped against it signed, _From the garden! Lots of love, Luna and Rolf._

Of course, Dudley could not have noticed any of this, for he was staring at the letter as if it were a ghost. There was a very awkward silence as Harry waited for the kettle to whistle, and it was only perpetuated when Ginny entered the room, her midnight blue dressing robes swishing with every step. She sat down beside Dudley, but did not speak. Harry believed this was the first time his wife and his cousin had ever met. Of course, Ginny knew all about their difficult childhood experience together, and Harry could see the look in her eyes that often preceded an excellent casting of a Bat Bogey Hex. Harry shook his head when she glanced at him in silent suggestion, but he grinned nonetheless. The thought of Ginny hexing Dudley was comical of course, but tonight was not a night of laughter for his cousin. After tonight, nothing in Dudley's life would ever be the same.

There was a slight ease in tension when the tea had finally been steeped and poured, though Dudley looked as though he could have used something a bit stronger. Harry thought of the bottle of firewhiskey sitting in the highest cabinet, and hoped he wouldn't need to open it tonight.

As the three sat at the table, Harry picked up the envelope. "Can I open it?" he asked quietly. Dudley nodded once, his watery eyes still wide and fearful.

Harry broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter within. The scrawling writing with the flared letters was familiar to him, as was the name at the bottom. Seeing Headmistress McGonagall's signature was like receiving a friendly wave. He had heard this was going to be her last year before retiring. As Harry scanned the contents of the letter, he couldn't help but smile at his memories of his old professor.

"What are you smiling for?" Dudley asked at last, looking irritated.

"Dudley, has anyone else seen this letter?"

"Well, Hannah was home when they delivered it—she was in the garden. The owl nearly gave her heart failure. But Amelia hasn't seen it. She was at school."

As much as he had liked Hannah when he had met her four years ago, she reminded Harry a little too much of Aunt Petunia. She too liked a clean household, excessive normalcy, and eavesdropping on her neighbors over the hedges. The thought of an owl taking her by surprise was distinctly amusing, and to cover up his smile, Harry spoke again.

"Dudley, before I tell you what this says, I want you to tell me what you already know. Clearly you've recognized the seal, or you wouldn't have come to see me. I want you to tell me about Amelia."

Harry knew that the only way Dudley would come to terms with the contents of this letter was if he said them aloud to himself. If Harry simply told him that Amelia was a witch, Dudley would never believe it.

Dudley took a swig from his tea and patted his forehead with a napkin. After a few minutes, he began to speak. At first, each word seemed to choke him. Then, the stories began to pour out without pause.

"The first time it…happened…we thought it was a freak accident. I mean, people can lift large loads with adrenaline, right? But how do you explain a six-year-old lifting a car with her bare hands just to rescue a cat? And then, when she was ten, we took her to the museum. We were looking at the dioramas, and then suddenly all the animals had come to life. Amelia had her face pressed up against the glass, and a saber-toothed tiger was roaring at her from the other side. There were other strange things, and we always told her to hide it. We had to be normal, especially around Mum and Dad. You know what they're like," he said, pausing at this to look at Harry's face. Harry pressed his lips together and ran a hand through his black hair, imagining what would happen if his aunt and uncle ever found out about Amelia. He almost felt pity for Dudley now. It was easy for him to imagine Dudley helping Amelia conceal her identity as a witch from her grandparents, who would never understand or welcome her. Would they treat her as they had treated Harry? Would Dudley lose the constant doting love of his parents?

Amelia would probably be an outcast to them if they knew. She wouldn't be able to send them messages via owl from Hogwarts or bring them sweets from Honeydukes for Christmas. They would retreat with fear and confusion. Harry disliked this thought, and attempted to push it from his mind. He turned his attention back to Dudley, who had begun to speak again.

"But anyway, weird things just kept happening over the years. And the letter came this morning, and I just thought it looked just like the letters you got when you were her age. And then I knew she must be a…" Dudley left this sentence dangling in the air, and Harry took a deep breath.

"Dudley, I know this is going to be hard, but I need you to say it out loud. You've got to accept it—she is going to need your support," Harry said firmly. Dudley drained his cup of tea in response. There was a long silence, and Harry stared at Ginny while he waited. She was looking at Dudley with sympathy, but her hand was still holding her wand under the table. The quiet was quite oppressive, save a few high-pitched mutterings from two Cornish pixies who were attempting to peek through the kitchen window from outside. Harry turned to them and gave them a nasty look, and they leapt from the windowsill with squeals of laughter that he hoped Dudley could not hear.

Luckily, Dudley picked that exact moment to utter the words, "My daughter…can do magic. She's a witch."

He looked oddly crazed as the statement escaped his lips, as if he wished he could take it back. But Harry merely smiled and poured Dudley another cup of tea.

"Do you want to read the letter from Hogwarts?" Harry asked, and Dudley accepted it into his large beefy hands although his expression was still hesitant. When Dudley had finished reading, his eyebrows had knotted.

"It says they're going to send someone over tomorrow afternoon to explain Hogwarts and the wizarding world to you and your family. They'll talk to Amelia and make sure she wants to come. And they'll give her a list of schoolbooks to buy."

Dudley looked terrified. "We can't do this alone. We're not like…like you," he said, glancing between Ginny and Harry. This time, it was Ginny who spoke up.

"You're in luck," she said. "Our son, James, is going to start at Hogwarts this year too. He got his letter yesterday. We can come with you to buy supplies in Diagon Alley."

Dudley seemed to recoil from this suggestion at first. After so many years of being fearful of "their lot," he was now being thrown into the midst of the wizarding world, asked to support his daughter and rely on his strange and abnormal relative. Harry understood this, and put a hand on Dudley's solid left shoulder in support. "We're here to help," he said softly.

For the first time since Dudley's statement of "I don't think you're a waste of space," on the day Harry had left Number 4 Privet Drive for the last time, a wordless understanding passed between the cousins.

Dudley then nodded and said, "All right. I'll er…call you after they come tomorrow to explain everything so we can set up a date to go shopping."

Ginny looked rather excited; she loved answering the telephone that they had installed in the living room since she had grown up without one. She had even invited Mr. Weasley over to investigate it one afternoon before Lily had been born, and he had been thoroughly thrilled. In fact, Harry had needed to interfere, for Mr. Weasely had tried to disassemble it to see how it worked.

When Dudley had finished his cup of tea, he walked to the door with Harry and Ginny at his side. There were no more words exchanged, but just before Harry made to close the door behind his cousin, Dudley turned around and said, "Harry."

Harry paused, watching the rotund blond man on his porch. "Yeah?"

"Thank you," he said gruffly. "For everything."

"Right," said Harry stiffly, unsure of what to say. He had never known Dudley to have said "thank you" before, and this had caught him completely off guard. "Er…see you soon. Good luck tomorrow," he said. Then Harry closed the door, and he and Ginny stood there in the hallway, marveling at the events that had just taken place.

"Do I sense the beginning of a new friendship?" Ginny asked with a devious smile.

"We'll have to see," sighed Harry. "Although I'm nervous to see what Dudley thinks of Diagon Alley. He'll probably hate me more when it's all said and done."

"I want to take him to see Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," laughed Ginny as they returned to the kitchen to put away the dishes.

"I don't think Dudley will appreciate knowing that George now sells a line of pink umbrellas that give people pig's tails," laughed Harry.

He and Ginny continued talking as they cleaned the kitchen, and when they finally retired for the night, Harry still lay awake, wondering what it would really be like to share his world with Dudley Dursely.


	2. Chapter 2: Amelia

"I'm a what?"

"A witch. You can perform magic."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Is it, Amelia? Has anything inexplicable happened to you? Have you ever done something strange? Something you were afraid to talk about because no one would believe you?"

There was a pause as Amelia's brown eyes shifted around the room. She first glanced at her father, who was sitting in a strange crouching position on the sofa, like a fearful mouse hiding from a cat. He was wearing a pressed blue button-down shirt and khaki trousers that sagged a little in light of his most recent weight loss. Nevertheless, the buttons on his shirt still strained a little around his midsection. Her father's face was white, waxy, and held the expression of someone lost in a bewildering dream.

Amelia's eyes then crept to her mother, who was sitting in an armchair beside her husband. Hannah Dursley was wearing a prim white lace dress with a matching headband framing her short blond curls. She looked rather confused and skeptical, and her dark eyes were trained on their guest. Amelia remembered her mother's reaction the first time she had done something…well, magical. Five years ago, her mother had walked in on her delightedly levitating books in midair; she'd made the same perplexed face she was making now, then had promptly shrieked and called Mr. Dursley home from work. When he had arrived, the family had sat in the living room with the window curtains drawn, discussing how to conceal Amelia's abnormality under the dim yellow ceiling light. The best thing for them, as he had proclaimed at the time, was to stay quiet and be normal. Two rules that had become a mantra for Amelia ever since. Stay quiet. Be normal.

After that night, they decided to pretend everything was always fine, and that they were a perfectly ordinary family, thank you very much. But things kept happening, despite their efforts to remain normal. And those curious events had brought another oddity to the Dursley house: the tall man in the living room.

Amelia turned her head to contemplate him as he sat across the coffee table from her. He had knocked on their door that morning with a gigantic brown owl perched on his forearm. He had introduced himself as Professor Dean Thomas over Mrs. Dursley's screams—she was terrified of birds.

He was wearing a long black cloak over black trousers and a red collared shirt. His strange appearance contrasted drastically with the dainty sea-colored walls and delicate doilies that adorned the sitting room. Of course, the owl hooting sleepily from its perch on the mantle did not help much. Amelia imagined that he must be a very unusual professor, for the ones she had seen in movies were always dressed in suits and wore glasses. After all, what kind of teacher would carry a cloak and own an owl?

Apparently a magical one. Professor Thomas claimed he was a wizard, and had just told Amelia she was a witch. Part of her wanted to call him crazy, but she had read the letter that had come yesterday and it was enough to convince her that he was not a lunatic.

She stared at him now, still debating what to say next. Should she tell him about the museum dioramas? The flying books? What about lifting the car? Or the…no, she couldn't, it was too strange.

Had she really been doing magic all this time? Of course, believing she was a witch seemed silly at first, but the memory of seeing the saber-toothed tiger snarling at her through flimsy museum glass was enough on its own to convince her otherwise.

"What I can do…" she began slowly, "What I can do is…magic?"

"It's a part of you, Amelia. Just like it's a part of me. But I've learned how to control it, and I can channel it using my wand. Watch." The professor pulled what looked like a long polished stick from the inside of his jacket. Her father flinched in apparent recognition, and Amelia gave him a curious look that he conspicuously avoided.

Thomas tapped the nearest doily resting on the small carved wood table beside him. It gave a small shudder and promptly turned from lace to a clear and sparkling glass. Mr. Dursley jumped violently in his seat, and looked as though he wanted to sprint into the other room. However, after a glance at Amelia, he seemed to steel himself and remained where he was.

Professor Thomas picked up the doily with two long fingers and held it up to glimmer in the sunlight like a freshly fallen snowflake. After a moment, he handed it to Amelia. As she held the doily in her small hands, she widened her eyes in amazement. Perhaps she wasn't alone, wasn't a freak, wasn't crazy. Perhaps she really was a witch, just as much as he was a wizard.

"So there are other kids like me? That can do…magic?" she asked tentatively.

"Yes. Some come from families like yours, with non-magical parents, and some come from families of witches and wizards."

"Which were you?" Amelia hoped she was not being impertinent and ignored the glare her mother bestowed on her. The man smiled softly.

"I'm of half magical descent. My father was a wizard."

"Does it matter whether your family is magical or not?"

Professor Thomas considered her as if deciding whether or not to tell her something.

"Not anymore," he said finally, but the ends of his lips had turned down as if he were reliving a terrible memory. Amelia sensed this was a sore topic, and moved on.

"How can people like me do magic? If we don't have magical parents, I mean. Where does the magic come from?"

The man looked thoughtful. "No one knows for sure," he said. "But there's a whole department researching that subject at the Ministry of Magic. It's our form of wizarding government," he added, seeing the questioning look Amelia and her mother gave him. Professor Thomas continued.

"Amelia, I'm here to offer you a place at a special school for wizards and witches. It is called Hogwarts. It educates young wizards and witches from the ages of eleven to seventeen. It's actually quite famous, as you will undoubtedly discover as you read up on its history. At Hogwarts, you will take classes like Charms, Potions, Herbology, and many others. I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. If you accept, I can provide you with a list of supplies and put you in touch with several wizarding families in your area so you can meet each other before the start of school."

Professor Thomas paused for a moment, regarding the expressions of the Dursleys. They were all silent and frozen in their seats, but Amelia's thoughts were a hurricane. Winds whispered possibilities in her ears, and the prospect of leaving her family and her home rained upon her. The desire to accept the offer groaned at the center of her heart, but she hesitated. She glanced once again at her parents, who were both still staring at the transfigured doily in Amelia's lap.

"I want to accept," she said slowly, "but I'd like to talk about it with my parents."

"I completely understand. This would be a drastic change for you and your family; you'd be leaving the Muggle world for the first time."

The man was cut off by another flinch from Amelia's father, who reacted to the word "Muggle" with a terrified familiarity. Amelia raised her eyebrows.

"Professor, what is a Muggle?" The new word stumbled across her lips.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the answer came from Dudley Dursley. "It's a term for non-magic people, like me and your mother."

Everyone stared at him in amazement, and he seemed to gulp.

Professor Thomas rolled his wand between his hands. "That's right," he said, looking at Mr. Dursley curiously. "Anyway, I'm glad to leave the information here with you, along with a list of the local wizards and witches who have children attending Hogwarts. If you'd be so kind as to send your acceptance or rejection with my owl, Amory, before the end of the day tomorrow, I'd greatly appreciate it. That will give me enough time to deliver your train ticket to Hogwarts and make arrangements for your escorted guide to the station—the platform's a bit hard to find, you see. If you have any questions, attach them with the letter and I'll answer them."

He rose from his seat, stowing the wand back in his jacket pocket. Her parents seemed to relax at the prospect of his departure, but remained in their seats as though made of stone. Amelia rose, placed the doily on the coffee table, and followed him to the front door.

"Don't mind them," she whispered as Professor Thomas glanced over his shoulder at her parents. He looked concerned. Amelia's mother was now locked in a staring contest with Amory the Owl, and her father was still sitting crouched up, as if in a frightened stupor.

"They'll be all right. My dad's afraid of magic, but my mum's more afraid of the owl, if you ask me. Thank you for coming here to tell me about Hogwarts. I want to go there, I really do, so I'll bring them around."

Professor Thomas smiled kindly, and replied, "I hope to see you in my classes. You'd make a fine witch with some training up. We need people like you."

With that, he exited the house, walked down the gravel driveway, and vanished with a quite loud popping noise that made Amelia start. She closed the door, locked it, and pressed her back against it. She slid down, her tailbone finally bumping against the white tile floor and her feet spread out before her. It all seemed too good to be true, and yet, she knew it was really happening. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, reveling in the excitement. She was a witch, and she wasn't alone. And staying quiet and being normal was now a thing of the past.


	3. Chapter 3: Gringotts

Harry and James walked down the block to the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron one week later, ready to meet the rest of their company. James was wearing his favorite maroon robes, which billowed in the gentle breeze. Harry had brought his invisibility cloak, and it was tucked in the magically enlarged pocket of his black robes thanks to an Undetectable Extension Charm. Harry hoped he and his son wouldn't need to make an escape to avoid attention, and so far his luck was holding. Enough time had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts that he could at least venture out in public without being mobbed by interested witches and wizards, but sometimes people still recognized him and insisted on commemorative pictures or autographs. He had always disliked this, but it became even more of a nuisance once his children had been born; he didn't like the idea of strangers trying to stop James, Albus, or Lily for pictures or interviews. The last place he wanted James to be was on the dictating end of a Quick Quotes Quill.

James glanced up at him now, his eyes gleaming with excitement and his black hair ruffling in the breeze. "What are the Dursleys like?" he asked.

Harry hesitated a moment before answering. James, Albus, and Lily had never met Dudley or the rest of the Dursleys for a reason. Dudley had always feared the wizarding world, and Harry had always assumed his cousin wouldn't want to meet any more of "their lot."

He had been correct in this assumption, at least until Aunt Marge's funeral four years ago, when he and Dudley had crossed paths for the first time since they had parted ways at Number 4, Privet Drive. Since then—Harry still couldn't really believe it—they had begun meeting once a year for a coffee to try and patch together some semblance of a relationship.

Meeting up for a yearly cappuccino had obviously not been Harry's suggestion, for he would have been quite glad to never see any of the Dursleys again, but Dudley had been persistent. He'd asked for Harry's address at Aunt Marge's funeral and later contacted him, asking to meet. This desire to ease their strained relationship surely could not have stemmed from their reunion at the funeral, for it had been a tremendously awkward occasion in which Harry and his aunt, uncle, and cousin had all been stuck in the same room for three hours.

Aunt Petunia had gone gray, and Uncle Vernon was still as vast as ever. For the most part, they had sat silently, avoiding Harry's eye, and he in turn had wondered why he had even bothered to come in the first place. Of course, after his disastrous misuse of magic and the resulting inflation of Marge, he'd felt rather guilty about his behavior and had decided to pay his few respects. But he'd forgotten that his aunt and uncle would be there, and they most likely had assumed in turn that he wouldn't show up.

Petunia and Vernon Dursley had placed themselves as far as possible from Harry during the service, even inching farther away every time Harry moved to scratch his nose or adjust his glasses. He'd expected this. Thankfully, they left rather early, clearly avoiding the burden of making small talk with their abnormal nephew. That had also been expected. The only thing Harry had not anticipated was that Dudley–once his parents had left (or rather, escaped)—seemed to be keen to find out how Harry had been doing. Harry had pressed the written address to his country home into Dudley's beefy hand when he'd been asked, assuming it would be the last he'd ever hear from the man anyway. He had been quite wrong.

The real reason for Dudley's sudden wish to see Harry once a year had still been a bit of a mystery until last week. Harry had often wondered if Amelia was a witch, for Dudley never had wanted to talk about his daughter during their meetings and had often asked questions about magic that had never sounded as offhand as Dudley probably intended. "So, how did you do magic without a wand when you were little?" he'd asked on one occasion, trying to keep his voice steady. Simply using the word "magic" still seemed to frighten him. Harry had explained his answer, at first wondering why on earth Dudley would want to know. The only reason he could think of was that perhaps Amelia had shown magical talent, and Dudley was now curious about what that could mean for her future.

He had therefore not been surprised to read the letter Dudley had shown him last week. In fact, he'd been rather pleased. Not only had his hunches about Amelia been correct, but he knew that James would be glad to have a friendly face on his first day at Hogwarts. Rose and Hugo Weasley wouldn't be old enough this year, so James would need to make some new friends. Perhaps James and Amelia could get along better than their fathers had done. But part of Harry still feared that they wouldn't like each other, and that Dudley would assign blame to Harry. Luckily, he was an accomplished wizard who didn't fear being on the wrong end of Dudley's fist anymore, but the idea of making his cousin angry was not something he necessarily welcomed.

"I've never met Amelia, but Dudley's…nice," Harry finally said to James, although he had to suppress the urge to add "sometimes" to the end of his sentence. "He's a bit afraid of magic though, so you'd better be on your best behavior and try not to scare him—no pranks, do you hear me?"

Harry gave his son a stern look, and James grinned back mischievously. Harry continued to frown, and his son eventually sighed in resignation, pulling out a decoy detonator and a puking pasty from his pocket. He gave them to his father, who pocketed them at once.

They had now reached the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, and the street was relatively clear. They didn't need to wait long before Harry saw Dudley and Amelia making their way up the street toward them. Amelia was small and bony, with the same dark eyes and blond curls as her mother. She was wearing a lovely yellow dress that complimented the pink complexion she no doubt inherited from Dudley. However, Amelia had a kinder smile than her father. As they drew closer, Amelia's grin became ever more prominent, and she stared up at the sign for the Leaky Cauldron in delight. Dudley, following her gaze, seemed to be unable to find what she was looking at. His eyes slid over the sign as if it wasn't there at all. Giving up, he turned his gaze to Harry, and they shook hands when they were close enough. Not much was said, as both were gazing at James and Amelia, who had shaken hands as well. The two had smiled easily, and began conversing in near whispers. After a moment, Harry turned back to Dudley, and said, "Shall we go in?"

Dudley frowned. "Where are we going? I don't see the Leaky Cauldron anywhere."

"It's just here," said Harry kindly, and he pulled open the door. Dudley blinked several times before following James and Amelia inside. The interior of the Leaky Cauldron was dim and dusty, with the pleasant smell of butterbeer and sanded wood. The long tables were mostly empty, although a few old witches wearing gray robes sat in the corner stirring drinks that frothed and smoked. Tom, the old barkeep, had retired a few years earlier, leaving the place in the care of his son, Ernie, who had brown hair that went to his collarbone and a long scar across his right cheek. Ernie now stood at the bar, wiping down the counter with a white towel and humming softly. He looked up at the new arrivals and pointed out the side door.

"Diagon Alley's that way," he said gruffly, his eyes resting on Dudley, whose Muggle clothes had clearly been noticed. Harry took the lead once more, and led them through the door. Dudley had made an unbelievably high squeak once the bricks in the alley had begun to move at Harry's touch, and Amelia had gasped when Diagon Alley appeared behind the shimmering red brick dust. Even as an adult, Harry still felt excitement rush into his lungs at the familiar sight of the gleaming glass windows, colorful shop awnings, and the bustling witches and wizards with their multicolored robes swishing behind them. He'd been to this place countless times by now, but he knew how it must be to see it for the first time. Sure enough, Amelia looked entranced, her brown eyes gleaming with happiness.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Harry said.

"Harry," Dudley said suddenly, a look of worry on his face. "I don't have any wizard money. When Professor Thomas visited, he told us not to use Muggle money, but we don't have anything else."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Hogwarts sent Dean Thomas? I wish I'd known! He's an old friend, teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts now, I think. I don't think he knew you and I are related," he laughed. "But don't worry about the money. You can convert it to wizard gold inside Gringotts."

"What's Gringotts?" Amelia asked, staring up at the cousins with interest.

"It's the wizard bank. It's run by goblins," Harry said, speaking that last part as casually as possible, although Dudley still began to look like he might vomit. "Goblins?" he said weakly. Harry nodded.

"Hey dad, can you show us where the giant hole was when you helped the dragon escape?" James asked, the corners of his mouth twitching. Harry instantly regretted ever telling James the story of how he, Ron, and Hermione had broken into Gringotts and escaped on the back of a gigantic dragon. What had he been thinking? Now Dudley was looking at Harry as though they had never met before, and Amelia was regarding him as if he were a dangerous rebel.

"No," he said, looking pointedly at James as if to say, _shut up_. "The chandelier's still gone though, so it might be a bit dim when we go in there. They've only got candles now."

As they made their way to the giant bank, Harry wished he'd made Dudley a Confidence Draught before they'd started the day, as his cousin still seemed to be quite dazed. And this was all _before_ he was going to have to meet the goblins in person. At least he wouldn't need to visit a vault; Harry honestly wasn't sure Dudley would survive the journey on the cart.

Nevertheless, Harry knew there was a first time for everything in the wizarding world, and therefore coaxed Dudley and Amelia up the steps to Gringotts. Both of them seemed to be quite nervous at meeting a goblin for the first time. As this was not James' first time into Gringotts, he was looking around with an expression of excitement on his face. James loved exploring inside Gringotts, and seemed intent on finding the long scratches on the walls the dragon had made all those years ago...he hadn't found them yet, and his father knew why. Harry might have embellished the story a little bit, but James needn't know.

The interior of Gringotts was just as beautiful and intimidating as it had always been, with goblins walking purposely around the giant high-ceilinged room and cobwebs dangling from the rafters. The hole in the ceiling had thankfully been repaired, and the chandelier was indeed gone. To the average wizard, nothing else seemed at all different. But Harry knew well enough that the tiles in the entryway had been repaired and painted over, so the colors were just the slightest shade darker than they had been before. If he squinted, he could still see some of the spindly cracks in the floor.

Harry guided the group to the nearest goblin, and said, "My cousin would like to make an exchange from Muggle to wizard money, please."

This goblin looked up from his paperwork so fast that the hair protruding from his ears seemed to quiver. He looked Harry in the face with interest, his large bulbous eyes sliding to the dormant lightning-shaped scar. He didn't say anything, but gave Harry a discreet nod and turned to Dudley.

The goblin regarded him with a respectful raise of his eyebrows. "First time to Diagon Alley?" he asked.

Dudley could only nod slowly, but Amelia stared up at the goblin and said, "Yes, sir."

The goblin now looked at Amelia with interest as he reached for a quill. "Hogwarts, then?

Amelia nodded. Dudley handed a few crisp bills to the goblin's now-outstretched hand. The goblin didn't say anything else, and began to count out galleons, sickles, and knuts methodically. He only paused about halfway through to reprimand James, who was inspecting a large golden scale at the other end of the room.

"Oi, get your hands off, that's ancient, that is," he barked, and James' hands sprang away from the scale at once.

As the goblin sat counting, another customer approached the counter and spoke to the goblin right beside them. It was a girl about the same age as Amelia and James, but she was alone. Her hair was auburn and cut very short, and she had very bright blue eyes. As she conversed with the goblin, it became clear to Harry that this girl was American. She seemed to be attempting to exchange dollars for wizard gold, and the goblin was frowning in concentration. The girl glanced around her furtively as the goblin began counting out coins. When she spotted Harry staring at her, she widened her eyes and looked away. As she did so, something strange happened: all the candles lighting Gringotts were snuffed out at once.

The place was plunged from dimly lit to impenetrable darkness, and everyone there gave small shouts of shock. After a few seconds, Harry lifted his wand and relit the candles with a flick of his wrist. As the light chased away most of the shadows, Harry noticed the girl seemed rather startled, and asked the goblin to go a little faster. She seemed eager to leave the bank now. Some of the goblins had run to the entrance and were now inspecting the doorway, attempting to see if a rush of wind had come through. Harry had never seen a blackout like that before. His interest was piqued, but before his thoughts meandered any further, the goblin finally finished counting out coins. Harry stowed his wand, watching as the goblin deposited the coins in a black velvet drawstring bag and handed it to Dudley.

"Thanks for lighting those," he said quietly to Harry, glancing around at the candles. The goblin's face seemed unconcerned, but the large eyes held some certain darkness to them that hadn't been there before.

Harry bent his head in response, and ushered the group away from the counter. He stole another look over his shoulder at the American girl, wondering what she could possibly be doing in Diagon Alley, and whether she'd had anything to do with the candles being blown out. James seemed to have noticed her too, because he whispered something in Amelia's ear and they both turned to look behind them with curiosity.

As they neared the door, Amelia turned forward again and took her father's hand. They stepped back out into the sunlit alley, but paused at the bottom of the steps. Dudley and Amelia began examining the strange new coins with interest, and James stood beside them, telling them how many knuts to a sickle and how many sickles to a galleon. Dudley was going slightly cross-eyed.

"So these here are Galileos?" he asked, holding up two sickles. James laughed and corrected him, placing a galleon on Dudley's gigantic palm. Amelia was examining a knut between two slender fingers and laughing along.

Harry took this moment to survey the rest of the street, deciding which shops they should go into next. He pushed the blackout from his mind with the reassurance that it was probably just a draft, and pointed to Flourish and Blotts.

"Let's go in here first," he said, and led Dudley, James, and Amelia across the cobblestones.

**Author Note: I just wanted to say thank you for reading this story. After little more than a week, Dudley's Daughter has already received an incredible amount of interest, and for that I am very grateful. **

**I am aware that there are many stories with the same title as mine, and am considering changing the name. I'm definitely open to suggestions if you have any. Hope you enjoyed this last installment. More to follow soon!**


	4. Chapter 4: Malfoy

It took quite a bit of coaxing to get her father to go inside Flourish and Blotts. A cluster of gossiping witches in tall pointed black hats were lingering in the doorway reading slick and shiny magazines emblazoned with "Witch Weekly" in acid green writing, and Dudley seemed to be glued to the cobblestone road.

Nevertheless, the four eventually made their way into the cluttered bookstore. Books of all shapes and sizes were stacked in misshapen heaps on the floor, magazines were tucked behind the umbrella stand, and a few encyclopedias of wizarding accomplishments floated merrily near the ceiling. The sun was falling through the windows in diagonal beams that caught the dusty air and made it dance. James grabbed Amelia's hand at once and led her among the towering shelves and sunbeams to the children's section, where graphic novels entitled "Mitch Maven, Undercover Wizard" were propped against a display stand—Amelia had to blink several times before she was sure that the illustrations were _moving_—and books like "Rhyming Charms" and "The Tales of Beedle the Bard" were lined against the black wooden bookshelves.

"We'll let them find our school books," James said to her now, "Dad knows what to get."

"Okay," Amelia replied brightly, still scanning the shelves with amazement. She wondered how there could be so much of another world that lay hidden among the streets of London. She almost felt pity for Muggles who would never see how much lay on the other side of that enchanted brick wall behind the Leaky Cauldron. Her father was one of the lucky ones, even if he didn't know it yet.

"What's your favorite book to read?" she asked James, and he immediately pulled a thick wrinkled leather book from the bottom shelf. It was a book about Quidditch. Amelia wondered if that was a disease. She must have said this out loud, for James laughed richly.

"Amelia, Quidditch is a sport—it's like football in the Muggle World. Quidditch is played up in the air on broomsticks. There are even teams at Hogwarts. I can teach you the basics if you want, before school starts. Mum actually played professional for a while, and dad was the youngest Seeker at Hogwarts in almost a century. I'm sure they'd love to help you learn."

Amelia initially recoiled at the idea of herself whizzing around on a broomstick, soaring dizzyingly high in the air. Her stomach even scrunched up at the mere thought of her feet leaving the ground. It wasn't normal. She always needed to be normal for her parents-

-but she didn't have to be anymore, she remembered suddenly. And she may as well give it a try.

She and James spent a good long while racing between the shelves, investigating books that had strange titles and shiny leather covers. On three occasions, James pressed a small volume into her hands for her to buy. Apparently, there was a lot for Amelia to learn from the wizarding world.

It was only after they had approached the potions section that Amelia heard a man's voice on the other side of the bookshelf. It was reedy and disdainful, with a lazy drawl.

"Scorpius, go try and at least _try_ to meet some other children your age while I get your books. You can't be the only one shopping for Hogwarts today."

There was a quiet reply, but Amelia couldn't hear it well enough, so she pushed two copies of "Eye of Newt: The 32 Best Recipes" apart and listened again, clutching her books against her heart. James followed suit, but instead seemed to be peering through to get a glimpse of their faces. Amelia felt suddenly silly eavesdropping, despite the fact that she'd seen her mother do so through their garden hedge countless times, but she didn't want to stop listening. Something inside her wanted to know more about the world she had only recently entered; she hadn't had nearly enough encounters with other magical people and felt quite eager to know what they talked about. How different were they from the Muggles she knew so well?

"Don't get this book; it's got a scratch across the back. Are there any copies that look a little less…_used_? Honestly, this place has gone downhill over the years," the drawling man said. He sounded exasperated. "Just go look at the Quidditch books for a while, Scorpius."

"Yes, father," said a small, quiet voice.

"I'll meet you up front once I've got these." There was a sound of some books being shut and stacked together, then a rustle of robes. Only too late did Amelia and James realize the sounds of footsteps were approaching their aisle, and they sprang from their eavesdropping positions right as a small boy rounded the corner. He saw their guilty expressions and raised his eyebrows. Amelia's face burned as if she were standing in front of a fire. She touched the locket at her throat uncomfortably.

"It's rude to eavesdrop," Scorpius said in his quiet voice. His black eyes were narrowed, and he clasped his hands behind his back. He was wearing emerald robes with an inky black crest over the heart, and his white hair was combed to the side, clinging close to his forehead. His expression was one Amelia had seen on the faces of the rich children that had gone to school with her: bored and expectant.

"Er...I'm sorry, I just-"

"What in the name of Merlin is _that_?" Scorpius interrupted Amelia, suddenly curious. He was looking with wide eyes at the locket around her neck. In her discomfort, she had opened it, and the picture inside was now visible. It was one of her parents together, holding her when she'd been a baby.

"It's a locket," she said. "Haven't you seen one before?"

"Of course I have," Scorpius rolled his eyes, "I meant what's inside. Is that a picture? How come it isn't moving?" He moved closer to get a better view.

"You mean you've never seen a still photograph before?"

"No, all of ours move. Even the paintings," he said. "So are you Muggle-born, then?"

Amelia confirmed this proudly, but Scorpius looked uncomfortable. He glanced back at the aisle where his father was still perusing books and stepped backward. "Don't let my father hear that."

"What did you say, Scorpius?" asked the drawling voice, as if on cue. There was another set of louder footsteps, and suddenly a tall, thin man with white-blond hair and a pointed chin was examining the two children over his son's shoulders. His black robes were fastened over a black shirt that conspicuously covered all his skin from his wrists to his neck. He looked stiff and uncomfortable in the warm bookstore.

"Ah," he said softly. "Who do we have here?" To Amelia, this did not sound like a question. It sounded more like a command.

Startled, she responded, "Er…my name's Amelia Dursley, and this is-"

"James Potter, sir."

"Potter?" the man blinked in recognition. "Harry Potter's son, I assume." Scorpius looked shocked at this revelation.

"Yes, sir," James had turned quite pink. "Who are you?"

"Draco Malfoy, and this is my son, Scorpius."

James had evidently heard of the Malfoys before, because he narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "Yeah, my dad's mentioned you. Said you were a coward," he spat. Amelia thought this was extremely brave for James to say to an adult wizard.

She half imagined Draco Malfoy whipping out a wand and turning him into a toad, but nothing happened. Draco merely put a hand to his nose, which was slightly bent as if it had once been broken. "Don't call me a coward," he said darkly. His left arm twitched. Scorpius narrowed his dark eyes and stared at James.

Amelia sensed there was some sort of bad blood between the families, but she knit her eyebrows in confusion trying to think of what it could possibly be. Come to think of it, she didn't really know much about the Potters, even if they were family.

She looked at Scorpius in silent questioning and he rolled his eyes in response_._

The staring match was then broken up by the approach of Harry and Dudley, who had just turned the corner at the other end of the aisle. Harry stopped abruptly at the sight of Draco, and Dudley, who had been trailing behind clutching a basket with miscellaneous textbooks inside, nearly slammed into him. Harry and Draco met eyes, and a silent sort of hatred seemed to pass between them. Dudley cleared his throat, peering around at Draco and Scorpius.

"Harry," Draco finally said, inclining his head in a rigid nod. Harry returned it.

"Who, may I ask, are you?" Draco asked, now making eye contact with Amelia's father.

"D-Dudley Dursley, sir. I'm Harry's cousin," he managed. He stuck out his hand to shake Draco's, but Draco did not move. After a few moments, Dudley's hand flopped back to his side.

Draco's eyes examined Dudley's Muggle clothing, and he looked inquisitively at Harry out of the corner of his eye. Harry made a slight movement of his head from side to side. Draco smirked, but said nothing. There was another long silence.

"We should be going, we've got to purchase these so we can get on with your shopping," Harry finally said to James and Amelia.

"Come, Scorpius, we should find you a proper cauldron." Draco turned to leave, but Scorpius paused for a moment. He pulled a sweet wrapped in glossy red wax paper from his cloak pocket and tossed it to Amelia. He winked. "See you around," he whispered, and followed his father out of the bookstore.

It took a few hours and a few more coaxing pep-talks to her father, but eventually both James and Amelia were now proud owners of standard size pewter cauldrons, potions ingredients from the apothecary, robes from Madam Malkin's, and brass scales. They had even gone inside a magical creature shop, where James bought a small brown and black owl called Hatherley, but Amelia couldn't justify getting herself one—it would terrify her mother too much, and where would she keep it when she came home for the holidays? She instead persuaded her father to let her buy a kitten with sleek black fur and green eyes. His name was Arthur, according to the eye-patch-clad shopkeeper.

The next stop for their shopping was to procure wands, which Amelia had most been looking forward to. They stopped in the shade below the awning of Ollivander's Wand Shop, and Harry and Dudley passed their children the gold needed to buy their wands.

"We'll meet you both outside in a few minutes," Harry told Amelia quietly. "I want to get your father something to drink, he's looking rather ill."

As their fathers walked away, James and Amelia stepped into the cool dark shop. James nearly walked through a spider web that had been spun in the doorway. When their eyes had adjusted from the bright outdoors, they found that there was another girl in the shop in front of them. She heard them approach and turned around, brushing a slender hand across her short hair and beaming.

It was the American girl from Gringotts. "Hello," she said enthusiastically. "I'm Bridget Jacobs. Who are you?"


	5. Chapter 5: Magical Mayhem

Harry and Dudley walked into the Leaky Cauldron, and the glorious shade sheltered their skin from the baking heat outside. Dudley was sweating a great deal, and his hair was sticking to his forehead.

"Don't you get hot in those robes?" he asked Harry.

"No, they're quite light," Harry said, looking down at his clothes.

He almost wished he'd dressed like a Muggle to make Dudley feel more comfortable. But some part of him still relished the idea of Dudley being regarded as "the strange one" for once in his life. For the first time, Dudley was the one who didn't belong. After all those years of having his broomstick and schoolbooks locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and having to tell people he went to St. Brutus' Academy, Harry had to admit to himself that it was nice to have the tables turned.

Glancing around at the pub, Harry marveled at how busy the place had become; clearly today was a popular day to shop for Hogwarts, for the place was full of parents and children clutching bags and baskets full of books and equipment. There were hardly any places open, but they finally spotted an empty table in the far corner and sat down. Dudley spread his thick hands out on the scrubbed wood, glancing around, and Harry followed his gaze. A gray-haired wizard at the table to the left of them was reading a small brown book entitled "Better Gnomes and Gardens" while two possibly sixth-year girls sat at a table to their right, giggling and prodding at a pink pygmy puff that sat snoring on the middle of the table.

Harry ordered them each a butterbeer, explaining to Dudley that it might help him relax a bit.

"What does it taste like?"

"Er…like butter and toffee, and it warms you up on the inside. It's delicious, trust me."

Dudley nodded, and there was a silence that seemed to drag on. Harry was searching desperately for something to say, and Dudley seemed to be doing the same. As it had been during their annual meetings for coffee, there was still a bit of tension between them, which, as Harry had begun to think, might be incurable after so many years of torment at the Dursleys. Harry was just about to ask if there was anything in particular Dudley wanted to see in Diagon Alley when a tall man approached their table and spoke in a snide, smooth voice.

"May I join you? Everywhere else is full, and frankly I'd choose sitting with you two over the girls with the pygmy puff."

"Sure," Dudley sighed, and the newcomer conjured a chair and placed a mug on the table. Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of despair fall over him like a shadow as Draco Malfoy sank into his seat, adjusting the high collar on his robes.

There was a quiet stretch of awkwardness that endured until after Harry and Dudley's butterbeer mugs had arrived. During that time, Harry decided that if someone had told his younger self that one day he'd be sitting in the Leaky Cauldron drinking butterbeer with Draco Malfoy and Dudley Dursley, he would have laughed and told them to shove off. In fact, Ron would probably do exactly that once Harry recounted the events of today to his best friend.

"What was your name again?" Draco said, staring at Dudley with a scrutinizing smile.

"Dudley Dursley, Amelia's father. And what was your name?"

"Draco Malfoy. My son, Scorpius, is currently in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and it's too hot to wait outside. He'll meet me in here shortly."

"What's Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?" Dudley looked perplexed. Malfoy smirked.

"It's a wizarding joke shop. Ginny's brothers founded it," Harry answered. "I can't keep James out of that place," he added, remembering the confiscated decoy detonator and sweets that still lay in his pocket.

"They sell all kinds of things; sweets that make you ill so you can skive off class, wands that turn into rubber chickens, powder that makes impenetrable darkness, and even Ton-Tongue Toffee. It makes your tongue almost four feet long," Draco said. "They certainly enjoy foolish pranks, the Weasleys."

Dudley had gone very pale, and nearly spluttered out a large gulp of butterbeer he'd just taken. Harry at once knew what Dudley was thinking of; how could either of them forget the time Fred and George had slipped Dudley a Ton-Tongue Toffee the summer before Harry's fourth year? Of course, Harry had thought it was brilliant at the time, but it had only added to the multitude of reasons Dudley feared anything magical.

Draco seemed not to have noticed, for he continued lazily. "Of course, I suppose we all did enjoy pranks during our time at Hogwarts."

Harry, being the victim of many of Draco's "pranks", did not respond. Dudley, however, looked interested and seemed keen to stay included in the conversation. "What did you do?"

"Well, I used to put all kinds of hexes on people up at school; one of my particular favorites was one that gives you beaver teeth that just kept growing," he demonstrated with a gesture. Dudley guffawed, and Harry reddened in anger, thinking of poor Hermione, who'd been the victim of that curse once.

"I used to love pranks too," Dudley said after a swig of butterbeer. He seemed to be warming up to Malfoy, which was not something Harry was comfortable with. Of course, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Both of his childhood bullies would no doubt get along with each other.

"I'd get kids in trouble for no reason at school, and sometimes my friends and I would shove their heads in the toilets on the first day." Malfoy snorted in amusement and Harry cleared his throat. All these things had been done to him during his time living at the Dursleys, and hearing his cousin recount them to Malfoy was like reliving them all over again, only worse. He began to wish he could extricate himself from the chair and find James again; Dudley knew better than to laugh about his gang's escapades in front of his children.

As if James had heard his father's thoughts, at that very moment he came sprinting into the Leaky Cauldron and arrived at their table quite out of breath. He was panting so hard that he hardly even noticed Draco Malfoy sitting there.

"Can…we…go…to…Weasley's…Wizard…Wheezes?" he finally managed to say between gigantic mouthfuls of air.

"All right, but I'm coming with you. I want to make sure you remember what your mother told you this morning. No more shrinking silverware—it's driving her mad. Why are you in such a hurry to go, anyway?" Harry asked, grateful for the excuse to escort his son to the shop. He'd been hoping to see George Weasley anyway. In addition, Harry wasn't feeling very charitable to his cousin at the present moment, and privately hoped Dudley would see the stack of pink umbrellas that were only a best-selling item because of him.

"Well, Amelia and Bridget want to go before they sell out of everything. It's already mad in there," James said, his speech returning to normal speed.

"Who's Bridget?"

"She's the same age as us. She's from America, we met her in Ollivander's. Oh, and look-" he drew a polished wand from his pocket and brandished it in front of Harry. "Nine inches, willow and unicorn hair. He said it was _resilient, _whatever that means!" Harry was thrilled, and rose out of his seat to congratulate James. Dudley got out of his chair, but Draco stayed seated to wait for Scorpius, examining his mug with feigned interest. Harry did not say goodbye.

They reached the multicolored awning of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which read, _Magical Mayhem Inside _in flourishing script_. _Miniature fireworks were being set off from the second floor balcony and they exploded into the sunlight with shimmers and bangs. Amelia and a girl who must be Bridget were waiting outside the busy shop. Amelia was still holding her newly purchased wand in her hands, and she immediately approached Dudley.

"Look, dad, look at my wand!" Dudley smiled nervously, careful not to touch it. "That's…great," he finally said.

"Oh, and this is Bridget, we met her in the wand shop," Amelia added, and Bridget shook Dudley's hand with a giant smile. Harry shook her hand as well, and as her sea-colored eyes slid over his scar, she made a tiny squeaking noise and then said, "Nice to meet you," before turning scarlet and quickly walking back to Amelia's side.

"Can we go in?" James asked impatiently, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the wares inside.

"Yes, all right, go on," Harry sighed, letting Amelia, James, and Bridget race into the store and following at a slower pace.

If magical mayhem had a definition in the dictionary, Weasely's Wizard Wheezes would most definitely be the accompanying image. Amelia was quite sure she had never seen a place that felt so alive…or so chaotic. Girls were sniffing at love potions and giggling, boys were examining the Skiving Snackboxes with enthusiastic horror, strange bat-like creatures hovered near the ceiling, and James even handed her a sample of Mealworm Extract, which apparently could make your eyes change color temporarily. She tried it at James' insistence, but immediately spat it out, a horrible taste permeating her mouth. As she did so, James roared with laughter and Bridget giggled sympathetically. Seeking to relieve the terrible taste of burned rubber from her tongue, she felt around in her dress pockets for a mint to no avail. She then remembered the sweet Scorpius had given her in Flourish and Blotts, and she decided to try that instead.

As soon as it touched her lips, she felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to vomit. Seizing the nearest empty trick cauldron, did so quite loudly. A tall man with red hair and a multicolored top hat who happened to have been walking past stopped abruptly as James and Bridget cried out in shock. He raced toward Amelia, and placed a warm hand on her shoulder.

"Looks like a Puking Pasty. Don't know how you'd have gotten one of those, though; we've packaged 'em all up in boxes," he said. Amelia buried her face in the cauldron again as another wave of nausea hit her.

"What'd you pack them up for, George?" asked James indignantly.

George gestured to Amelia and the ruined cauldron in response. "We can't have people trying them in the store anymore," he said. "We're running out of trick cauldrons as it is, so we're only selling them in the Skiving Snackboxes now. Here," he said, pulling something wrapped in colorful wax paper from his pocket and giving it to Amelia.

"Eat this and you'll feel better, I promise. I'm awfully sorry about that. I'm George Weasley, by the way. I own the shop." He waited for Amelia seemed to regain color in her cheeks and then asked, "What's your name?"

"Amelia," she said.

"Where'd you get that pasty from, anyway?"

"Scorpius Malfoy," James answered with a scowl, and Amelia swallowed hard. "That idiot," George sighed. Bridget and Amelia laughed.

"I wish we could be more careful with who we sell our products to, but there's only so much we can do. Tell you what, though," he said, rising and grabbing a small black stone with a white line down the middle off the shelf behind them, "take this as my treat. An apology."

Amelia took the cold stone in her hands, and the word _Hummingbird _written in black script appeared on the white stripe down the middle. "What is it?" she asked.

"It's a Cloner. I just invented these this summer. It senses magic nearby and replicates the power. So if someone hexes you, the Cloner will store the hex and regurgitate its effects on someone when you ask it to. Just say the password that's on the white line, point to the person you want to hex, and it'll respond. If I were you, though, I'd clean off the password once you've memorized it so no one else can use it," he added, eying James' expression of excitement with a grin.

"Thanks," she said, looking up into George's face. "Sorry about the cauldron."

"No worries," he replied kindly, and he turned on his heel and strode away. He didn't make it very far, however, as there was a tremendous cry from across the room.

"OI, YOU!"

Dudley was brandishing a pink umbrella and crossing the room rapidly, with Harry following behind. Dudley was breathing hard and was turning purple. "You used me just for a laugh! That's sick, that is," he shouted as he finally reached where George was standing. George was regarding Dudley with stunned recognition and confusion. Amelia saw Harry put two fingers to the bridge of his nose. _Sorry, _he mouthed to George as he stood behind his cousin. Amelia thought it looked as though Harry was trying very hard not to laugh.

George Weasely opened up his mouth to say something, his mischievous eyes no longer sparkling, but Dudley was quicker. Before Amelia could even fathom what was happening, her father pulled back his right arm and punched George Weasely straight in the face. There was a moment of stunned silence, and then, from beside Amelia, who stood shocked into paralysis, Bridget muttered, "Magical mayhem, indeed."


	6. Chapter 6: Flight

It had only been three days since the fiasco at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and Harry was glad to be home with his family and out of the company of the Dursleys. Ginny had been quite furious with him after Dudley had attacked George, and rightfully so. George had sorted his bruises out within the hour and seemed to find everything rather funny, but Harry Potter and the Weasleys causing a scene in Diagon Alley was not exactly something that would go unnoticed in the Daily Prophet. The last thing their family needed, according to Ginny, was publicity, and Harry knew she was right.

Although Dudley was actually the cause of the mayhem, Harry knew that it wouldn't do much good to blame anything on his cousin at this point. Dudley would still need some time to learn how to set foot in a wizarding establishment comfortably…or, more specifically, without starting a fistfight.

Sighing, Harry perused the most recent Daily Prophet while standing at the counter in the kitchen. His wand was stuck in the back pocket of his trousers, and he was holding a cup of tea with his elbows propped against the freshly printed pages. He was reading the article detailing the debacle that had taken place, thankful at least that his children had not been mentioned. Nevertheless, he read the sentences with disgusted apprehension, as if the article were written in bobotuber pus.

_Magical Mayhem in Diagon Alley!_

_By Rita Skeeter, Resident CelebriWiz Analyst_

_For many years after the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the famous Harry Potter has maintained a rather quiet life in the wizarding world, merely popping up now and again with mysterious rumors surrounding his job as an Auror for the Ministry of Magic. __After the 2010 creation of the Dark Art Crime Intelligence Agency (DACIA), a sub-committee of the Auror Office, some have wondered whether Harry has played a role in the missions abroad to Cairo, Salem, Paris, and even Hong Kong. __While Harry never gives hints to what really goes on in his career or personal life, one could say aspiration for perpetuated fame might have been Harry's goal when he came to Diagon Alley three days ago. __Apparently, a vicious brawl broke out inside Weasley's Wizard Wheezes between Harry Potter, his brother-in-law, George Weasley, and a Muggle man who seems to be a friend of Harry's. __While the reason for the fight is still unclear, we can speculate Harry's well-known temper has resurfaced once more in his attempt to gain attention. __Or perhaps he was under the influence of any number of George Weasley's crazed inventions that were present inside the shop. __George Weasley, now the sole owner of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, refused to comment when approached for an interview. __George's most recent accomplishment in the wizarding world comes from his invention of the Cloner, a device that can replicate and cast spells without the use of a wand or proper incantation. __Schools and businesses worldwide have purchased them, given the prospect of their usefulness to Squibs and those struggling with charmwork. __Perhaps George's frivolous line of work in the pranks business is finally providing something more helpful to the world than the newly improved and fast-acting constipation pills known as U-No-Poo…(For more, see page 9)._

While used to Rita Skeeter's acid pen, the words nevertheless made Harry roll his eyes and adjust his glasses. A "vicious brawl" had taken place, had it? In his mind, he still saw Dudley punching George, and then George stumbling backward into the stand of Cloners, which scattered onto the floor and bounced like stones on water. Harry had immediately grabbed both of them by their arms and pulled them outside to avoid causing a commotion. Only one punch had been thrown, thankfully, and George was sympathetic to the situation and hadn't retaliated. That was what had really happened, but the truth had never stopped Rita Skeeter before, and she must have had a witness willing to speak to her and let her twist the words. Instantly, he remembered seeing Scorpius Malfoy's pallid face grinning slyly at him from behind the fallen Cloner shelf as Harry had rushed back into the shop to gather up the children. Perhaps Scorpius had told Rita all she'd needed to hear. Harry made a huffing noise and took a sip of his tea. He still had a sour look on his face when Ginny walked into the room a few minutes later, pressing the telephone against her ear and holding another basket of gurdyroots from Luna and Rolf in her hands.

"I must admit, I was surprised to hear from you," she was saying, sounding icy. "No, I suppose not…No, it'sfine with us if she really wants to. We can pick her up, if you don't mind us using the Floo Network."

She paused, biting her lip and setting the basket down on the counter. She straightened the front of her lilac robes.

"It means we will use a fireplace for transport…of course, we're not going to burn her up," she said with exasperation. "Well, maybe next time then. You're sure you want to drive? All right, in an hour sounds fine, see you then." She hung up the phone.

"That was Hannah Dursley," she said. "Amelia wants to come over; James invited her when they were on their way back from Diagon Alley."

Harry decided if Amelia and James wanted to still be friends, he should encourage that relationship, even though he and Dudley were not particularly keen on speaking to each other at the moment. He agreed, and an hour later, Amelia stepped through their front door wearing denim and a lemon-colored blouse. She and James immediately made their way to the living room, no doubt to play Exploding Snap, learn Wizard's Chess, or read the latest issue of "Mitch Maven, Undercover Wizard" sitting on the bookshelf. After a curt nod to Hannah, who was idling in the car, Harry closed the door, locked it with his wand, and returned to the kitchen with Ginny. Together, they determined James and Amelia would be best left to their own devices, and instead decided today would be a great day to teach Albus and Lily to de-gnome the backyard and get rid of the Cornish Pixies living in the drainage pipe.

Amelia sat on the wooden floor in the Potters' living room, marveling at the books stacked above her. She had brought the books James had recommended for her in Diagon Alley, in the hopes that he could answer any questions she had as she read. When she told James this was her plan, he pointed to a small book she'd bought in Flourish and Blotts.

"Read that one first," he said with authority. The title was embossed with gold and pressed into the soft red cover. It read, The Tales of Hogwarts and was written by someone called Xenophilius Lovegood. Amelia held back the urge to snort at the name, for it was certainly the strangest she'd ever seen. James was looking at the book with fond reverence. "What's so special about it?" she asked, taking it in her hands and flipping through the pages. The writing was very small, and each chapter was in a different color of ink.

"It's about the most evil wizard that ever lived, and how he was stopped during a battle at Hogwarts."

"Really? The school we're going to go to?"

James nodded in response.

"Who was the evil wizard?"

"His name was…" James' voice had become a near whisper, "Voldemort."

Once again, Amelia had to hold back a scoff—what kind of name was that?

"Who stopped him?"

James went rather red. "My dad," he said quietly but proudly. "You wouldn't know, since you're Muggle-raised, but my dad and his friends defeated Voldemort when they were seventeen."

Amelia's eyebrows skyrocketed into her bangs.

"He doesn't like it when I read this book, he says it'll make me see him differently, but I don't care—I like knowing my dad protected us all. Just do me a favor and don't tell him I showed it to you." James looked around the room, as if expecting his father to stroll in wearing a disapproving expression.

Amelia turned her head to the side, studying the pages again. There it was, on the top right corner of the paper, in the middle of a sentence: "Harry Potter" was written there, sure enough. Had her own father known about Mr. Potter's defeat of Voldemort? Surely he must have, he'd already known his cousin was a wizard! Why hadn't he said anything to her? Amelia had had no idea Harry Potter was…

"…famous…your dad is famous?"

James turned even redder. "Yeah, but don't say anything about it, please. I just thought you might like to read about it since you're coming to Hogwarts. It talks about all the battles, and about the school's history. Oh, and Draco Malfoy's in there too; I think Lovegood embellished a bit, but apparently Uncle Ron punched him in the nose during the battle because he was trying to join Voldemort's side." At this, Amelia laughed sonorously, feeling much better after her initial anger at being tricked by Scorpius Malfoy into eating a Puking Pasty.

James continued, "Old Lovegood's a family friend—he's a bit of a nutter—but he writes a far better story here than anything you'll find in Hogwarts, A History. Once you've read it, a lot of the wizarding world will probably make more sense," he said.

Amelia was still nodding, wondering how it could have been possible to not know she was related to the savior of the wizarding world. "Wow…I'd feel embarrassed that I didn't know, if I weren't so shocked," she finally replied with a small upturn of the corners of her mouth. James smiled. "Well, go ahead and read it then—I'll answer any of your questions if you want. And if you get sick of reading," he added, "we could always take a ride on the broomsticks." Amelia could immediately tell this was what James really wanted to do; it shone out of his skin and sparkled in his eyes like sun on water. His face was illuminated with a mischievous expression that Amelia was starting to think was contagious.

"You know what, let's read later," she grinned back. "Show me how to fly a broomstick, James Potter."

A few short minutes later, Amelia was running through the long yellow and green grass behind the Potter cottage, feeling the longest blades tickling her knees as she sped across the field following James. She could feel her hair swinging across the back of her shoulders as she ran, heard the breath rattling in her lungs, and saw the horizon in the distance moving up and down with her gait. The broom she was holding with excitement and apprehension felt lighter than she had been expecting, and she gripped it firmly as she followed James to the center of the empty field. When they were standing side by side, they both mounted the brooms, and kicked off from the ground.

Amelia felt herself soar upwards, the grass below rolling like the sea and the house shrinking to the size of a matchbox. Ordinarily, she was terrified of heights, but inexplicably, being on a broom high above the countryside with a friend seemed to be not only easy, but absolutely _wonderful_. She could see the rolling hills in the distance, the patches of farmland stretching out like a quilt over a sleeping body. If she squinted, she could maybe see her house in the next town over. And next to her, James did a steep dive, pulling up effortlessly just above the trees. She could see the rest of the Potters far below, working in the backyard, the size of ants. She decided to test out the steering on her broom, and did a couple loops high above the house at a rapid pace. Suddenly, she saw James rushing back up to her, holding what looked like a red apple.

"See if you can catch this on your broom," he called. Amelia wondered if he was crazy. "Don't be silly, I'll fall," she protested, but James shook his head.

"You'll be fine! We'll start out just tossing it back and forth at this height, all right?"

They began throwing the apple back and forth, with Amelia at first focusing on staying balanced on the broomstick. The fear inside her seemed to be waking from a long sleep, and the worry accompanying her fear of falling began to seep into her blood like cold water. But as she became more comfortable with holding the broom with one hand, her catches became more daring—and more fun. Soon enough, they were diving for catches at great speeds, hurtling so fast toward the descending apple that the air stung their cheeks and dried out their eyes. Amelia felt herself laughing with glee, embracing the feeling of freedom and danger. They continued playing for what felt like hours, until Harry motioned them to come in. Amelia's mother would be back soon, he said, and the children sighed as they stored the broomsticks back in the cupboard and wiped their wind-tousled hair from their eyes.

"Can I come back tomorrow?" she asked James as they walked back into the house. James nodded enthusiastically. "I want to start preparing for school—maybe we should try out a few of the spells we've got to learn," he responded. "You should bring your wand and your books." Amelia felt warmth spreading in her chest at the thought of using her wand for the first time. She smiled with wild happiness, and James returned it in kind. When her mother pulled into the twilight-lit driveway, Amelia waved goodbye to the Potters and clambered into the car, holding The Tales of Hogwarts and her other books under her bony arm. As they pulled away, Amelia noticed James was still standing on the front porch, waving good-naturedly. Harry and Ginny stood behind him, holding hands and smiling cheerfully. Amelia pressed her head against the cold glass window, waving back. She was filled with wholesome joy; she was glad she had met the Potters, glad she was different, and glad she was a witch.

**Author Note: Thank you very much for reading this story. The positive reviews I've received in response have truly surprised me, and I'm grateful for your feedback! More chapters will follow soon.**


	7. Chapter 7: September 1st

**Happy September 1st, everyone! I hope you enjoy this latest installment in honor of the date. Thanks for reading!**

Time passed quickly over the next few weeks of August, and Harry's house had become a hub of activity. Amelia had come over countless times to fly with James, and sometimes they spent hours sequestered in the living room, practicing spell intonations and reading from their books. Harry even had the sneaking impression that James had showed Amelia The Tales of Hogwarts. The reasons for this suspicion arose from the fact that Amelia seemed to regard him with a little more respect and perhaps a little more fear, but it also stemmed from the fact that James was his son, and was therefore quite good at going against Harry's wishes.

Harry wondered what Amelia thought of him, having now read the book. He knew that Xenophilius Lovegood had done a marvelous job of storytelling, but was secretly glad that he had left out what had really happened that night in the Forbidden Forest. No one besides his close friends knew about his death, his conversation with Dumbledore, or his choice to return and defeat Voldemort for good. Harry was glad for this, because people would almost certainly have treated him differently…at least, more than he was already accustomed to. Nevertheless, some small part of Harry wanted Dudley to read the book, so that perhaps he would understand everything Harry'd been through.

How would Dudley react once he knew the truth about Harry's life? Harry still wasn't sure. Someday, perhaps soon, he'd tell Dudley in full detail what happened the night he'd died and returned, the night that life had won out over death. Although, given Dudley's still somewhat fragile nature when it came to magic, Harry wasn't sure now was the best time to tell him all of this. But if Dudley was going to be part of the wizarding world, he'd need to know its history. And a majority of that history unfortunately included the man with the lightning-shaped scar. Many times, Harry nearly picked up the telephone to call Dudley and ask to meet. Every time, he drew his hand away at the last second, and pretended to straighten the adjacent basket of gurdyroots when Ginny looked at him curiously. He decided that there would be a more appropriate time, once things between them had settled out and they were on better terms.

Harry knew that he and Dudley were going to see each other again very soon; the date of James and Amelia's departure for Hogwarts was fast approaching. In fact, as September first roared down the track ahead of them all, many visitors came to the Potter household. The Weasleys came by in succession; George had stopped by for tea the week before, and had surreptitiously slipped a few licorice wands to James, Albus, and Lily before departing. Bill and Fleur had come for a quick glass of mead last week before picking up Victoire from her date with Matthias Zabini, who lived a few towns over. When Teddy Lupin had arrived only two days ago for dinner, Harry had been careful not to mention Victoire or her boyfriend to his godson. He'd felt it would have been tactless, considering he already knew that Teddy had feelings for her.

Ron came by more frequently, perhaps to compensate for the fact that Hermione was working double hours at the Ministry and couldn't get away. "She sends you her love," Ron said with a lopsided grin. "She's been asked to repair the time-turners in the Department of Mysteries. Since she's used one before, they asked her to do the job. They offered to suspend her other work, but you know Hermione. She's taken it on in _addition_ her main duties." Harry agreed that was indeed Hermione's nature. After he'd seen her take every class offered in their third year, simply for the challenge, he was unsurprised at her enduring spirit.

Ron had been quite amused at the fiasco that had taken place in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. "To be honest, it doesn't surprise me much that Dudley punched George," he'd said one afternoon as he and Harry strolled in the garden. "He's seems like somewhat of a violent bloke, from what you've told me. I guess maybe being thrust in to the wizarding world was hard for him, and he just couldn't handle all of it at once."

Harry had nodded and nudged a garden gnome away with the toe of his shoe.

"But I keep thinking about that American girl in Diagon Alley. What do you think she's doing here? It's a bit weird," Ron had continued. "I mean, I used to hear stories about people moving around or sending their kids abroad for school, but I never really gave any thought to what it would be like to have someone from America at Hogwarts. Mind you, she could just have family here."

"She was alone when we met her," Harry had recalled. "She was in Gringotts all by herself."

"That's strange. I wonder which school she would have gone to in America."

"Well, there's one in Salem," Harry had pointed out. "Remember? They had a tent at the Quidditch World Cup with a banner for the Salem Witches' Institute."

"Yeah, maybe. I'll ask Dad or Charlie; they'd know."

By the time the thirty-first of August had arrived, James' trunk had been packed, all Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products had been dutifully removed (for the third time), and Hatherley the owl had been stowed in his cage, much to James' chagrin.

"Can't I let him out just once more?" he asked that morning while Ginny waved her wand over the bacon in the kitchen.

"No, and that's final," she said. "He's got to get used to being in that cage; you've got a long journey to Hogwarts, and you won't want him getting stir crazy on the train. It's better for him to be inside until you get there; he's been out flying all summer."

Amelia telephoned that afternoon to ask a few last minute packing questions, which James was more than happy to answer. They had already begun what seemed to be an infallible friendship; for every awkward moment between Harry and Dudley, there were three inside jokes between James and Amelia.

"No, don't bring the cauldron stand, you won't need it," James said into the phone. "They provide them up at school…don't worry about your cat, Arthur will be fine; you can take him into the compartment with you. I'm bringing Hatherley, but he's got to stay in his cage." James shot his mother a sad, doe-eyed look, which Ginny promptly ignored.

The Potters spent that evening celebrating James' last night at home. They played a few rounds of Exploding Snap, made some mulled cider in the slow-cooking cauldron, and watched the Cornish Pixies frolick in the twilight. Albus seemed quite jealous of James, and eyed the packed trunk in the corner enviously. Harry had already discussed this with Albus, but knew it was no good telling him again that the year would pass quickly enough. Lily was too busy staring through the leaves of the trees at the cobalt-blue pixies, entranced by their devilish grins and tiny giggles of delight. Once the sun's last vestiges of light were lost to the starry darkness, the children were taken to bed. Harry imagined James wouldn't sleep a wink, but tucked him in anyway as an act of good faith. Then, Harry and Ginny cleared away the dishes together, as they always did, and shared a long kiss before all the lights in the Potter house went out for the night.

The next morning was well organized thanks to Ginny, and the family had ample time to get ready before they left for King's Cross Station. While they still needed to get up early, no one seemed to mind. There was a layer of excitement in the air that had entered in along with the faintest chill in the air that always arrived on September first. Everyone breakfasted and packed for the journey to London, and James made sure everything was in his trunk five times, upon Ginny's request. When Ginny went to call the Dursleys to make sure Amelia was ready, Harry decided it was finally time to do something he'd been looking forward to for a while. He pulled James aside, and together they walked into the garden to stare at the early morning sunrise.

"James, I have something I want to give you. It was something I received during my first year at Hogwarts, and now I want you to have it. It belonged to my father, who shares your name. And it's something that's been passed down, father to son, for generations of Potters." Harry reached inside his magically enlarged front pocket, and pulled out his invisibility cloak. He saw James' eyes widen in curiosity and excitement. "And now it's yours. But-" he moved it quickly out of James' reach, for he'd moved his hand forward in order to receive it, "-I will only to give it to you under the same condition by which it was entrusted to me."

Harry waited until his son was staring at him intently. "Use it well," he finally said, and let the silky, watery material fall through his fingers and into James' extended hand.

"Try it on," Harry said, and watched in bittersweet delight as his son quickly vanished from view.

"I'm invisible!" James cried enthusiastically. "Oh, that's awesome!"

"Be careful with it, James. It's extremely rare, and it will come to mean a lot to you. But I'll take it right back if I get word you're causing trouble-"

"I won't cause trouble," James protested. Harry looked at him with exaggerated skepticism. "…often," James added with resignation. Harry laughed.

King's Cross station was thoroughly busy when the Potters arrived. The rounded ceiling overhead gleamed in the sun, and people stood in the streams of light that poured down from above, illuminated as they leaned up against the brick walls or bustled off to their platforms to board. When they reached the barrier between platforms nine and ten, the Dursleys were waiting, standing off to the side of the bustling masses walking in each direction. Amelia was wearing a red dress and black shoes, the locket at her throat sending off flashes of light as she moved around, straightening her trunk and scratching Arthur between his black ears. Dudley was wearing a stiff button-up shirt and khaki pants, and Hannah stood a little behind him, wearing jeans and a pink blouse, her hands clasped behind her back.

Dudley approached Harry almost robotically, extending his plump pink hand. Harry took it hesitantly, and said, "Hi, Dudley."

"Hi," his cousin replied awkwardly. "Look, about before, when we were in Diagon Alley…"

"It's fine, I know this all really hard to take in."

"Yeah, but I shouldn't've punched George. I was being stupid," he said.

"Well, okay, yeah," Harry conceded, "but I understand. And about the pink umbrellas, I shouldn't have laughed-"

"It's fine," Dudley said. "To be honest, after I had a few days to think about it, the idea actually is a bit funny. Just please don't go around telling people it was inspired because of me. I don't think I could live with it."

Harry chuckled. "All right."

There was a partially awkward pause in the conversation, and then Harry asked, "Are you excited for Amelia? This is a big day for her."

Both of them glanced at Dudley's daughter, who was holding Arthur in her arms while James tickled the cat and stroked the underside of his furry chin. As James did so, the cat purred loudly, and Amelia giggled.

"Yeah, I am. I think she's excited. She always comes back from your house with all these stories about goblins and dragons and broomsticks, and she's just beaming. It's like a whole other world, and I think she's glad to be part of it. She never really fit in with Muggle kids anyway," Dudley said. The word Muggle seemed to stumble on its way out of his mouth, as if the word didn't really belong there. Harry nodded, understanding exactly what Dudley meant. He'd never fit in at Muggle school either; but that might also have been because of the hand-me-down clothes he'd had to wear, and because of the younger Dudley's childish vendetta against his abnormal cousin. Things had changed somewhat since then, but Harry still felt there was some irreparable damage in their relationship.

"Well, I'm glad she and James have become such good friends. Now Amelia has a friendly face at school."

"She's quite happy, I think," Dudley agreed.

They were silent for a few more moments, but then Ginny and Hannah approached. "We should probably go through the barrier," Ginny said, presenting her watch. Harry agreed, grateful for the distraction. James went first through the concealed entrance to Platform 9 ¾, followed by Ginny, Albus, and Lily. Hannah and Amelia went next, but not before casting concerned glances at Harry, as if worried the barrier would turn back to solid brick before they could pass through. Nothing of the sort happened, however, and in no time they had crossed over. It was now only Harry and Dudley left.

"Best to take it at a bit of a run, Dudley," Harry said encouragingly. "Come on."

They began to jog, the barrier looming closer and closer, until suddenly, there was a rush of wind, and the two cousins were standing at the platform in front of a massive, steaming, black and crimson train emblazoned with the words "Hogwarts Express." Dudley blinked in surprise, and turned around to face the wall they'd just arrived through in disbelief. He put his hand up against the wall, and it passed through as if it were merely a projection.

"Whoa," he breathed, and Harry patted him on the back. "I told you we'd be fine," he said.

The two of them joined the rest of the family, and helped Amelia and James stow their trunks in one of the compartments. The children then came back off the train once more to say goodbye.

Harry saw Dudley embrace Amelia gently and whisper something in her ear that made her smile. He turned to face James, and crouched so that they were looking eye to eye.

"Be good, understand? You're there to study, not to pull pranks. And no dueling or we'll bring you straight home."

"I know, I know," James sighed. "Thank you for the cloak," he added. "I know I didn't say it before, but I really like it, and I can't wait to use it."

"Use it well," Harry said again. "Don't tell anyone else you've got it though. It's our secret." And because he couldn't help himself, he added, "Please _especially_ don't tell Scorpius Malfoy."

"Merlin's pants! Of course not!" James cried indignantly. Harry cracked a smile. He embraced his son, and then James went to say goodbye to Ginny, Albus, and Lily.

It was five minutes to eleven before all the goodbyes had been said, and the train had started to whistle now, signaling that everyone should board.

Harry had to resist the urge to get on and find seats for himself, Ron, and Hermione. This was ingrained in him after so many years of not wanting to miss the one train that would take him to his favorite place in the world. He had been conditioned to feel that whirl of excitement, to worry about making it aboard in time, and to anticipate staring out the window as they left the world of Muggles behind. And now, so many years after he'd left Hogwarts, his son would be going, making new memories but building that same love for the school.

James and Amelia were now visible in the window facing the platform, waving wildly at their parents. Another face then joined them in the compartment, and Harry saw Bridget grinning at them as well. Harry and Ginny clasped hands as the clock hands signaled eleven o'clock, and the train began to slowly move away. There was a tugging in Harry's heart as he watched his son begin to grow smaller as the train moved into the distance. James waved one last time at his family before the train turned the corner and he was lost from view. Harry let his hand fall back to his sides, and whispered, "Good luck," as the train disappeared. From two feet beside him, his cousin whispered the same words.


	8. Chapter 8: After the Train (Part 1)

No sooner had the train gone did Dudley turn to Harry and ask him to go to lunch. Harry was extremely surprised, but accepted, grateful for the distraction now that he was keenly feeling James' absence. Ginny and Hannah decided they would go shopping with Lily and Albus in tow; they had already come all the way up to London, and wanted to make the most of the trip.

Harry stopped once or twice on his way out to sign a few autographs for people who had recognized him; Harry knew a few of them from his time at Hogwarts; a balding Justin Finch-Fletchley told him he'd send the autograph to his son, Pete, who was a second-year. And Dennis Creevy, who was still scrawny and rail thin, ran up to shake Harry's hand enthusiastically, then asked a passing Ernie MacMillan to take his picture with the Boy Who Lived. Dennis pressed a gigantic Polaroid camera into Ernie's hands, and then had gone to stand beside Harry with a gleaming grin.

"Colin would have loved this," he said in an undertone as he and Harry waited for the picture to develop, "it's a camera for instant _moving_ pictures. I asked George to modify this one; it made a great Christmas gift. I put a new moving picture on Colin's grave every Sunday; I know he'd have liked that."

Harry remembered Colin well, and knew he would have liked such a camera. He still recalled the gap-toothed and cheerful boy snapping photographs nonstop during his time at Hogwarts. Harry was glad to see Dennis was carrying on after the death of his brother at the Battle of Hogwarts. Sometimes it was nice to see that the scars did heal somewhat. But Harry knew better than anyone that scars could still hurt sometimes.

Eventually, Harry found Dudley, who was standing a little distance away and conversing with Hannah, and soon enough they were all crossing back through to the Muggle side of King's Cross Station, while Dudley mumbled words of amazement under his breath. As they exited the building, Harry looked up one last time at the arched glass ceiling and the towering brick pillars, remembering when he'd seen this station last. It had been in his mind, when he'd had his conversation with Dumbledore after his death. His brain must have picked it out as a place of comfort, change, and excitement to help him cope with the fact that he had just died. And Harry knew why; all those years later, after sending James off today, this place still resonated as his first confirmation that life could get better. That hope was present as he'd left his life at the Dursleys, after he had discovered he could return from death and save his friends for good, and after he knew he would take his own children to that platform someday. It was still present now, as he imagined his son wrestling a chocolate frog around the train compartment to the sound of Amelia's tinkling laughter.

Harry said none of this to Dudley, who seemed to have taken no notice of the nostalgic look on his cousin's face. Dudley was too busy making his way through the packed London streets, avoiding people exiting from the nearby Underground station. The two cousins walked in single file for a few minutes, as the sidewalk was too clogged to walk beside each other. Finally, the foot-traffic that surrounded the station on a busy morning like this one petered out, and Harry spotted a sleepy pub tucked away on the corner ahead. They would need somewhere quiet to talk, and when Harry suggested this place, Dudley agreed wholeheartedly. They spotted a nice table by the latched window, thanking their luck that the place was relatively empty, save a doughy old woman slurping soup in a booth across the room.

Having seated themselves at the glossy wooden table, the cousins made furtive glances at each other over the menus, daring the other to speak first. This was always the problem with Dudley, Harry thought; he always fluctuated between fearful and curious, but never predictably. Harry never knew what to talk about with him; anything magic-related could either intrigue or petrify his cousin, but Harry had been out of the Muggle world for too long to know anything Dudley might be interested in. Albus was Harry's best link to the modern Muggle world and its workings because of his love for Muggle books and magazines, but Albus talked almost exclusively of iPods, so Harry's knowledge of Muggle life was therefore limited.

"So…" Harry let the word slip from his mouth out of desperation for conversation. It hung there like a limp outstretched hand while Dudley diligently contemplated the menu. Harry tried again.

"So, why did you want to go to lunch? It's not really something we _do_," he said.

Dudley closed the menu, but stared down at his hands. "I wanted to ask you about something."

Harry folded his own menu, and traced the rim of his glass of water. "What?"

"I wanted to ask you about your life at Hogwarts. Now that Amelia's going there, it made me think about how little I know. About your life. And Amelia kept asking me questions; she was reading some book about you and she kept asking me how to pronounce words, what things meant, who certain people were. And that's when I felt like I should know the truth about you. Because I had quite a job explaining to her that I really had no idea."

Harry sat there for a long time in quiet contemplation. The waitress even took their orders and was long gone by the time Harry spoke again.

"Are you sure you want to know? It's a pretty dark story, Dudley, and I know how you feel about magic. About me."

"Don't be so sure," Dudley snapped. "I've gotten _so_ much better over the past few weeks. I have a responsibility to care for Amelia. And part of that involves knowing who and what you are, to the fullest extent," he said stubbornly.

Harry took a deep breath. He knew he was going to need to tell Dudley, but didn't want to do it in such a public place. He was about to protest, but seeing his cousin slouching with his bulky arms crossed made him sigh. Reluctantly, Harry cast a nonverbal Scrambling Charm around their table, one he'd learned from his many missions with the Ministry. To anyone else, their conversation would make absolutely no sense whatsoever.

Assured that the charm would conceal his secrets, he opened his mouth to speak, gathering the courage to tell a story he had not recounted aloud in years. Not once, since that night in Xenophilius Lovegood's sitting room, when he'd been surrounded by lit candles, Luna, Rolf, and Xenophilius (and his marvelously large ear trumpet). It was a strange thing to be sharing the details of his life with Dudley now, who was almost as good as a stranger. But Luna's words to him that night so many years ago bubbled to the surface of his mind when he hesitated to retell his past. "Share your story with everyone. Because it's a story worth telling," she had said.

So Harry began with the first day things changed. He started with that day his first letter came.

Dudley remained impassive and somewhat fearful as Harry summarized how he'd discovered who he really was (he skimmed over the parts with Hagrid and his ghastly pink umbrella, of course), and how he had met Ron and Hermione on the train to Hogwarts. He explained their exploits in the castle their first year, and briefly described the multitude of adventures that had led to Harry acquiring the Philosopher's Stone and protecting it from Voldemort.

Their food arrived precisely as Harry had started to tell the tale of the man with two faces. Dudley seemed to be more genuinely interested in the story at this point, but perhaps looked a little queasy as he examined his chicken. By the time Harry reached a point (after the conclusion of his first year) where he could pause and tuck in to his own roast, Dudley was gazing at him with a mixture between disbelief and dazzlingly impressed.

"How do I know that everything you just told me isn't made up?" he said obstinately.

"It's magic, Dudley," Harry frowned, a little annoyed. "Muggles think magic as a whole is made up anyway."

Dudley gave him a wiggle of his eyebrows, looking ruffled.

"Do you want me to continue, or not?" Harry said through a mouthful of potatoes.

Dudley sighed, as if reluctant to hear more, but his eyes had a certain gleam of curiosity Harry was sure hadn't been there before.

He told the story of his second year at Hogwarts; about the petrification of his classmates, and about the appearance of the first of many evil objects left behind by Voldemort as ways to tether him to life. As Harry spoke, Dudley interrupted every now and then with objections –"They let _all_ that stuff happen in a school?"—and shudders of horror. At one point, Dudley even whispered, "If I'd been you, I would have never followed the spiders."

Harry knew his cousin was beginning to see him from a different perspective. Gone was the bony, bullied twerp who wore Dudley's old clothes; in his place was a troublemaking rogue in an invisibility cloak with enough stories of trouble, treasure, and friendship to fill ten storybooks. There was so much more to Harry than his past at the Dursleys, and Dudley was finally beginning to see that. Harry liked the thought of this so much that he even described his battle with Salazar Slytherin's monster in greater detail than he'd originally planned, relishing the now-unmistakable look of amazement on Dudley's face when he explained how the poisoned fang had pierced his arm.

"But how is that possible? I mean, _phoenix tears _helped you survive? Really?" Dudley blinked skeptically when the story of Harry's second year had been completed. "Show me the scar," he demanded with raised eyebrows.

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Fawkes healed the wound; there is no scar, Dudley."

"Oh."

Harry took advantage of the gap of silence that followed to take a few more bites of his meal, which by now was tepid at best. When he looked up, still chewing, he saw that Dudley was still staring at him, his thick fingers interlaced and propping his chin up in a pose of alert attention.

"What happened next?" Dudley asked, doing a moderate job of concealing his curiosity. Harry felt himself smile as he considered his Yorkshire pudding.

"You'll like this bit," he said. "It's got a lot to do with a map, my dad, and a werewolf. Do you remember my godfather, the convicted mass-murderer?"

Dudley gulped.

Harry talked for what felt like hours, and Dudley listened obediently. However, compressing his life into the length of a long lunch was nowhere near possible, and to prove this point, Harry had only just begun describing the Quidditch World Cup when Dudley's eyes began to become rather fixed and glazed.

"Are you overwhelmed yet?" Harry asked, and there was a pause. Dudley seemed to be at war with himself, thinking very hard. This expression was something Harry had never seen on his cousin's face before, and he quelled the laughter that was rising in his lungs like warm air.

"Probably," said Dudley.

"This might be a good place for me to stop, then," Harry said, and swallowed some water gratefully. Dudley didn't protest, and waved the waitress over to pay the bill. Harry disassembled the Scrambling Charm and politely pulled some Muggle money from his pocket. As the waitress walked away, he felt his gaze turn to the window. What he saw outside gave him a sincere shock: a brown and black shape was flying straight at them, and Harry recognized it immediately. Without a moment's hesitation, he rose from his seat and unfastened the latch. He pulled hard, and the pane swung inward with a groan and a shower of dust.

Dudley gave a surprised gasp. "Is that-"

But he never finished his sentence. With a dull thump, a familiar owl plummeted through the open window and onto the polished table. Hatherley righted himself after a moment, his feathers ruffled and a few sticking out at odd angles. He looked distinctly harassed, and nibbled at Harry's finger impatiently.

"James has some serious explaining to do," Harry said darkly, and the waitress behind him gave a high-pitched scream.

**Stay tuned for Part 2, coming soon. I'd also love to hear your suggestions for any guest characters from the books I could include in the story. Thanks for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9: After the Train (Part 2)

In retrospect, they never should have opened the window.

But from the moment they boarded the train, Amelia, James, and Bridget were almost giddy with happiness, eager to feel the winds of escape whipping across their faces as they rolled along to their destination. James pulled open the window frame, and the compartment was instantly been filled with the warm summer breeze, the tangy tinge of autumn just starting to creep into the scent of honey and freshly mown grass.

Amelia was the first to laugh in excitement, reveling in the joy of being with her two friends. Bridget soon joined in, pressing her head against the seat back so that her short hair stuck up behind her like a spiky auburn crown. Her blue eyes held a daring spark, which James returned from his lounging position next to the window. In that moment, Amelia felt somewhat as though she was in a dream. Here she was, on her way to magic school with two of her best friends. It sounded so strange in her mind, and saying it out loud would have seemed like she was sharing a secret. The three of them sat in blissful contentment for a few more minutes, and then Bridget was the first one to move. She rummaged in a small brown handbag, and pulled out her new wand. She examined it as though she had never seen one before.

"So weird, these things," she said with a tone somewhere between amazement and curiosity. James flicked his eyes up in surprise.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'd never seen one before coming here. I mean, at Cygnets, we weren't allowed to have one."

"What's Cygnets?" Amelia asked, sitting up in keen interest.

"It was the magic school I went to. In Salem."

"Magic school?" James looked incredulous. "But you've only just turned eleven!"

Bridget smiled, and Amelia thought she even looked a little smug. "Well, in America we start a year earlier."

James looked insanely jealous, and seemed prepared to splutter in outrage. But Bridget simply smiled and said, "It was really only some theory. History of magic, intonations, runes, some basic divination. We weren't allowed wands, so we didn't do any charmwork. Honestly, I'd say it was dull."

"Still, you must know all about magic then. I bet you'll get top marks first year," James said sulkily.

"James, I'm from Muggle parents too—I've already told you. I've only had a year to learn about magic, and you've had your whole life. I'll probably be so far behind."

"You'll be further ahead than me," Amelia pointed out brightly. "I don't know anything about magic, regardless of which country it's from."

"It really doesn't matter much, Amelia. They explain things really well at Hogwarts, and you've already read tons of books," James said.

"Besides, who knows? I'm starting over at a new school anyway. I'll have to work to catch up on all your English slang. That's just as important as magical theory, I think; otherwise I won't be able to understand you all," Bridget said jokingly.

James tilted his head. "Why'd you leave? Why come to Hogwarts if you were already at Cygnets?"

Bridget seemed strangely unprepared to answer this question, and she badly hid an expression of discomfort with a laugh. "Salem was boring," was all she said. "Come off it," James scoffed, but Amelia knew a bad conversation topic when she saw one, so she nudged James' foot with her own and they left the matter alone.

They sat in silence, contemplating the landscape outside as it became wilder and wilder. Then Amelia, who was quite a lot like her overly-worried mother, had a panic attack about half an hour later, and had to take everything out of her trunk to make sure that her robes were safely stowed inside. "I can never be too sure," she said as she sifted through her socks from her kneeling position on the floor of the compartment. She rolled her eyes as James and Bridget snickered from behind her.

Amelia couldn't help but notice all the cracks on the floor as she knelt there; it looked as though the compartment floor had once been broken into many pieces, and then stitched back together. It was smooth to her touch, but the tiny cracks were dark, like black veins on the white tiles. Once everything was packed up again, Amelia moved back to her seat beside James, still eying the cracks. She remembered James had once told her all about how there'd been damage done to the school during the Battle of Hogwarts. Perhaps the train had been caught up in the battle too, and then had been magically fixed up. But the scars still showed in some places. It had been a large scale war, as Amelia had learned from The Tales of Hogwarts, but now that she saw how extensive it was, she wondered what kind of evil could really do that much damage. She shivered, even though the compartment was still pleasantly warm.

By mid-afternoon, however, Amelia had forgotten about the cracks. The trolley came through, with a jolly, plump, older woman pushing it from behind.

"Anything from the cart?"

Bridget and Amelia leapt to their feet, having been told stories by James of marvelous sweets and the most scrumptious pasties. The food was not the Muggle sort Amelia was accustomed to, and she was yearning to try anything and everything. In the end, Bridget purchased a licorice wand and a few pumpkin pasties, James had three small boxes of Chocolate Frogs ("Oh, yes, they move, all right," the trolley woman had chuckled throatily when Bridget asked), and Amelia had neatly stacked a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans on top of a Janus' Moon-Shaped Marble Cake ("Two Sided Treat with Real Stardust Mixed In!"). James eyed the cake with apprehension, apparently having never seen it before. "It must be a new brand," he said, but refused to try a bite. "I'm not eating anything with stardust in it," he said warily, and made Amelia describe it to him instead. "It tastes like anise on one side, and vanilla on the other," she said through a mouthful, "You're sure you don't want some?" James shook his head and turned his attention to his first chocolate frog, which was simultaneously squirming and melting in his hand. Bridget gave a little giggle as great fat drops of chocolate dripped onto the card that lay in the packaging. The irritated-looking face of Sirius Black, Member of the Order of the Phoenix, looked out at them as he attempted to wipe off some of the drops with his tiny sleeves.

Once they had eaten, everyone felt rather sluggish and took to staring out the window at the landscape again. The long grasses and distant trees were now lit up with mid-afternoon light that made the shadows long and the wind coming through the window luxuriously warm.

After a quarter of an hour had passed, Amelia probably would have fallen asleep, had Scorpius Malfoy not chosen that precise moment to burst through the apartment door, gasping as though out of breath, and lock the door behind him.

James, Amelia, and Bridget all jumped at the arrival of the blond boy, but he hadn't noticed them yet; his back was still to them, and he was peering out the compartment glass door as if waiting to see if whatever was chasing him had passed. After a moment, Scorpius seemed to come to his senses and turned around slowly. When he saw whose compartment he'd barged into, he cursed mildly and shoved his hands into his black trouser pockets.

James stood up, and there was a tense silence. Scoripus seemed to be debating whether whatever had driven him into their compartment in the first place was worth facing instead of James, who appeared to be very angry. Clearly James hadn't forgotten the incident at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and Amelia was glad she was not the only one who had felt a rush of hatred for the boy who'd made her vomit into a trick cauldron just for a laugh.

"What are you doing in here?" James asked, but he was promptly ignored.

"Are they gone?" Scoripus peered nervously back out the compartment glass over his thin shoulder, as if expecting to see a hulking monster on the other side of the door.

"Who are you talking about?" asked Bridget, who was still holding her licorice wand as if prepared to brandish it like a weapon.

"Paschal Zabini and Kenny Flint. They were in a compartment with me, but I think I said something that offended them and now they're after me. They'll hex me if they get the chance."

"I wouldn't count on it, neither of them has enough brain power," James said snidely. Scorpius looked somewhat amused, but concealed it hastily. "Believe me, if I hadn't been desperate for a place to hide, I wouldn't have come in here at all," he said, glancing darkly at Amelia. The light above them flickered on and off, as if to punctuate his remark.

"Well, you're here now, so you might as well sit down." Amelia said, and she stared at Scorpius, daring him to protest and leave the compartment. But after a moment, he reluctantly sat down beside Bridget, straightening the sleeves of his black shirt.

"I'm sorry," he said. James snorted.

"Really," Scorpius insisted. "I shouldn't have been so mean that day in Diagon Alley. I just, well, I'm not great with people, and I honestly just did it for a laugh. I didn't mean for it to get so out of control; I saw Skeeter's article, she took it way too far," he added, but his eyes were focused on the cracked floor.

"Well, that's all very nice and all, but _I_ don't believe you," Bridget said coldly, crossing her arms. Amelia copied her with vengeful enthusiasm.

"Why not?" Scorpius looked indignant.

"Well, the only reason you'd apologize to people you don't like is because you need something from them."

Scorpius looked down at the floor. Amelia added, "Clearly the people you were hoping to make friends with have just decided to chase you around on a train and attempt to curse you, so you're looking for a way to save face now that you're stuck in a compartment with us." She flicked an eyebrow up to punctuate this. Scorpius looked uncomfortable, and his pallid face darkened slightly.

"All right, yeah," he said in a low voice. "But I did apologize," he said hopefully. James rolled his eyes. There was a quiet moment where Amelia wasn't sure whether Scorpius was going to leave the compartment or argue with him. But then he stood and peered out the open train window as if he saw something approaching. He spoke very slowly and quietly, but there was an edge of nervousness to his voice.

"I think we should close the window. Right now."

"Why?" Bridget asked, but Amelia saw what he meant first. Something like a small black cloud, with the consistency of ink dropped in water, was amassing just outside the open window. The sunlight seemed to have no effect on it; it merely bounced off and the cloud stayed dark, opaque, and ominous. James lifted his hand to close the window, but it was too late. The darkness spilled fluidly over into the compartment like dry ice being dumped out of a canister. It hovered beside James for a moment, and then slid to the floor, stretching out like a tendril of chalkboard-colored smoke. After a moment, it appeared to reach a rolling boil as it flowed across the cracked floor. Bridget let out a shriek, and buried her head in her hands. Scorpius froze as the smoke curled around his ankles, and his face became nearly translucent.

"What is _that_?" Amelia whispered in terror, but no one could answer; James had drawn his legs up to his chest, and tucked his chin in the space between his knees.

The smoke floated there for a while, apparently innocuously, and then sank through the floor and vanished. At that moment, the lights in the compartment went out, and even the sunlight outside seemed to momentarily darken. There was a marvelous lurch as the train cars seemed to tremble, and Hatherley's cage fell to the floor and broke apart into two curved halves. The owl gave a deafening screech and spread his wings in fright. James made to grab for him, but before he could reach, the owl had leapt from the open window and let the gusts carry him into the turquoise sky. Arthur, who had been dozing beside Hatherley's cage, leapt to his feet with a yowl and raced to the spot between Amelia's feet.

There was a popping sound in Amelia's ears. Scorpius collapsed onto the ground, with his head bouncing against the cloth seat as he fell and one of his arms splayed across his face. James had turned very white, and Bridget was still frozen, so Amelia found she was the only one with the capacity to get up and see if Scorpius was all right. The sunlight seemed to brighten a bit as she rose shakily to her feet, and she could make out his silhouetted figure. As Scorpius stirred, he made a muffled coughing sound and reached upward to Amelia. She grabbed his outstretched hand and pulled him into a reclining position with his back propped against the wall of the seat and his legs stretched out across the tile. His head lolled onto the lip of the seat behind him.

"W-what happened?" he asked weakly, but Amelia was at a loss for words. No one else appeared to have an answer, and before anyone could come up with anything to say, the door to their compartment slid open violently. A tall fifth-year boy with pearly white hair and grey eyes stood there, a Prefect's badge gleaming on the breast of his billowing Hogwarts robes. He looked extremely out of breath, and the shadows brought out the dark crescents under his eyes.

"Did you see it too?" he asked abruptly, in an authoritative voice.

"See what?" James asked after a moment. Bridget lifted her head, and tear tracks gleamed on her cheeks. The boy considered her curiously for a moment, and then continued. "Did you see what made the lights go out? They went out all down the train, but from the Prefects' compartment I saw something like smoke come through your window." Amelia nodded slowly, but the boy was no longer looking at her; he had turned his attention to Scorpius, who was still sitting on the floor. "Are you all right?" he asked suddenly, and Scorpius shuddered visibly in response, his eyes closed.

"It'll be about half an hour before we get to Hogsmeade Station," said the boy with concern. "He's going to have to make it until then, I'm afraid. Professor Suresh is contacting the Headmistress as I speak. I'll stay with him," he gestured to Scorpius. "But you lot should go get changed."

Bridget left without another word, and clutched her folded robes to her tear-covered face as she walked out of the compartment. James and Amelia exchanged a serious look as they gathered their clothes. Amelia didn't have to understand magic to know something strange and terrible had just occurred; even James seemed rather shaken, and Amelia had begun to consider him the bravest of them. As they walked to the lavatories to change, they fumbled their way through the darkened passage, now and then bumping into prefects who were patrolling the corridor. There was boisterous conversation from nearly every compartment they passed; everyone seemed to be curious and full of fear and adrenaline. Amelia felt strangely calm now, as though something in her had become steel and was ready for anything. Perhaps she was in shock?

She gripped her clothes in her cold hands and hoped there was a perfectly good explanation to whatever had happened. With a pang of dread, she wondered if the school would have to close, if they'd all be sent home. Maybe she wasn't meant to go to Hogwarts after all. She swallowed hard, and shook the thought from her mind as she put on her robes for the first time. As she folded her Muggle clothes, her Cloner fell out of her pocket and clattered onto the floor. She'd forgotten she'd had it in the first place; but on strange impulse, she placed it in the pocket of her new robes. Given what had just happened, she never knew when George Weasley's gift could come in handy.

When Amelia returned to the compartment, James was already back. Bridget sat with her head against the window, which was now closed, staring despondently at the sky as it darkened into early evening. She had Arthur fast asleep in her lap, and was stroking the place between his black ears absent-mindedly. Scorpius seemed to have recovered slightly, and was conversing quietly with the prefect, whose name turned out to be Bradley McKinnon.

"He's all right, he just fainted is all," Bradley said reassuringly when Amelia entered. She nodded curtly, and walked to the end of the seat to sit across from Bridget. James moved a little to make room for her, muttering, "It's too bad he fainted all on his own accord, I was hoping to slip him a Fainting Fancy." Amelia quelled a smile that she knew would have been indecent for the situation at hand. She instead turned her attention to Bridget, and James shifted in his seat toward Bradley to discuss the unknown fate of Hatherley.

"What's wrong? I know there's something, don't deny it," Amelia said, and Bridget turned her brilliant blue eyes toward her friend. Bridget took a long time to answer, and when she did, Amelia felt a melting, oppressive sensation in her stomach.

"Well," Bridget whispered as she fidgeted with the sleeves of her black robes, "I've seen that cloud before. And the last time I saw it was the night my parents decided to send me here."

"What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she said slowly. "But if it's the same cloud, and it's followed me to Hogwarts, horrible things are yet to come. Amelia, I'm scared."

Amelia looked out the window, observing the blending of the shadows and the darkness. _What have I gotten myself into?_ she wondered, and her heartbeat began to race in keeping with the grinding wheels of the train.

"So am I," she whispered, and her mouth set into a long fine line.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I've received some great ideas for visiting characters that may soon appear in the story (thanks to those who submitted them), and I'll still gladly welcome any others you might want to suggest. Future installments to come soon. Hope you liked the twists.**


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